


A Brief Reprise

by Living_Snailures



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, just a short little thing i did instead of schoolwork, no relationships just vibing with friends, the good hunter is tired and wants a nap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Snailures/pseuds/Living_Snailures
Summary: After fighting his way through numerous nightmares and horrors, The good hunter wishes for moments reprise before he talks with Gehrman.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	A Brief Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is the same hunter from my previous fic, not like it matters since who needs character descriptions when you can just vibe.

The moon hung silent and still above the hunter’s workshop, thin red-stained clouds hung suspended around the moon like a burial shroud. The dull crackle of burning wood and woodsmoke filled the air as the hunter’s workshop, the only building in this dream, was slowly consumed by warm orange flames. despite the fire consuming the building, the doll didn’t seem all too concerned with such matters and sat resting on the wall, her head bowed as she seemingly rested, though if she was truly asleep the hunter had no clue.

He’d never intended to be a hunter, having awoken to the nightmare that was Yharnam with his memories fragmented and fragile, little to no memory remained to even tell him why he ever set foot in this accursed city in the first place, and why he was desperate enough to remain there, even as the city fell to madness, driven blood drunk by the bloodstained light of the moon.

He’d never realized quite how tired he was, how his joints creaked and ached with the subtlest of movement. 

How many times had he died? He was unsure of the true number. His bones being ripped apart by the cleric beast on the bridge to falling victim to poison or frenzy, it must have done a number on his body, though he never seemed to retain a physical scare from the ordeal, waking up clear of eyed at a lantern ready to fall again and again.

He was tired of hunting, of slaying beasts and hunters alike. The allure of rest, of finally being free from this night had kept him walking forward, though darkest of nightmares and the deepest horrors that stalked the streets of Yharnam. From the bloodied rituals of Yahar'gul and the one reborn to the horrible transformation and execution of Gilbert, his one guiding light through Yharnam’s madness. If it wasn’t out of sheer desperation to see the light of day, The hunter was sure he would have found somewhere quiet and have just slept until some beast came for him.

The doll raised her head as he approached, her hair swaying gently in the breeze and pale green eyes stared at him curiously, but she remained sitting, shifting her shawl which had fallen off her shoulders.

“Good hunter, Dawn will soon break and this night and dream will end. Gehrman awaits you at the foot of the great tree,” She said softly, accented voice gentle but lifeless. The hunter sighed and turned his head towards the large tree that loomed overhead, almost expecting to see the fleeting form of Gehrman resting in his wheelchair, but the base was hidden from his view behind the walls that surrounded the dream.   


He nodded but didn’t move towards the path that he knew lead to the field of white flowers and the foot of the great tree. Instead, he took several steps forward and sat down roughly, leaning his back against the stones ledge the doll was sitting on and legs sprawled out in front of him.

“What are you doing, good hunter?” The doll asked, her head tilted to the side in some confusion as she watched him, and he leaned his head back and laughed bitterly, exhaustion visible with how he was holding himself.

“Please, I’ll go in a moment but. Let me rest, for a moment.” His voice was raspy and quiet from lack of use, the doll hesitated for a second, before nodding, and he closed his eyes tightly and breathed in deeply. Now he was no longer moving and resting for the first time in what must have been a long time, His bones ached deeply and he finally felt the deep damage every single one of his deaths had done on his body. Everything ached but for the first time, he was okay with it.

He tensed up slightly as he felt cold, porcelain fingers press gently through his hair, slowly running through it. He sighed and leant his head against the doll’s knee, Her soft skirt smelt almost like lavender and was a pleasant relief compared to the stench of woodsmoke or blood.

He stayed like that for a while, The gentle crackle of woodsmoke broke away to a gentle hummed melody the doll hummed, which rose and fall quietly, reminiscent of a lullaby. If it wasn’t for the duty he knew awaited him just beyond this quiet moment, He very easily might have fallen asleep, but he understood this moment could not last forever.

He sighed roughly, and slowly moved his head away from the doll’s lap, her hand withdrew from his hair, and he looked towards the stained clouds and the large silver moon above. He was still tired, the desire to sleep forever still clung to his bones but was slightly lessened from that quick reprise.

“Good hunter?” The doll asked softly and he turned and smiled wearily towards her.

“Thank you. I….didn’t realize how much I needed that.” He murmured softly, and he replaced his hat that he’d taken off, pulling the scarf he’d worn for so long back into place, hiding his lower face from view. 

He turned to leave and paused as he felt the cold hands of the doll's hands against his, the thin porcine fingers gave his gloved hand a tight squeeze.

“Good hunter, May you find your worth in the light of dawn.” She said softly, before releasing his hand so he can go meet his fate in a field of white flowers.


End file.
